Of Silver and Iron
by DragonontheField
Summary: Edward Richtofen and Tank Dempsey hate each other.  Seriously.  And being stuck with each other weeks on end isn't helping anything.    Slash
1. Chapter 1

Tank Dempsey growled to himself as he jogged down the stairs that led to the theater. His heart stopped for half a second when his foot slid across the carpet which was wet and slippery with blood, causing the failed experiment that was crawling behind him to emit a grotesque hiss and claw at his ankle, missing by a fraction of an inch. Once, it may have been a human, but now it may as well have been some sort of alien, grunting and retching as it chased after the man on skinny, deformed legs.

"Fuckin' freak," the marine muttered as he increased the distance between himself and the thing before swinging around, smashing the creature's ugly mug with the butt of his gun. It shrieked once, the sound reverberating off the walls, before curling up to die. Dempsey let out a sigh of relief.

"Too much for you, American?" a sickeningly sweet voice called from behind him, belonging to none other than Doctor Edward Richtofen, who sure was taking his time in assisting his unlikely ally.

"Took you long enough," Dempsey said disapprovingly, grimacing as the ex-Nazi's smirk grew on his pale, scarred face.

"I needed to find something," Richtofen purred, turning the dead thing over with his boot, which was scuffed from so much time running from hordes of the undead, "And since when does our _big, strong marine_ need assistance?"

This left Dempsey silent, and the doctor took pleasure in noticing how the muscles in the sides of his jaw twitched. "Well, this seems to have been the last one for today, so it seems you've faired quite well on your own, anyway…" There seemed to be a slight tone of distaste in the German's voice, as if he was disappointed that the American hadn't been torn to shreds.

Tank's fury slowly cooled down, and his tone presumed the usual cockiness that was so typical of him. "How else would I do?"

The other man raised an eyebrow and began to speak, no doubt prepared to list every way that Dempsey had failed in the past, but a booming Russian voice interrupted him, followed by a frantic Japanese one:

"All clear! Time for drink!"

"A ruined liver is far from honorable, Nikolai!"

The two men then joined Dempsey and Richtofen, breaking the angry tension that always thickened when they were alone together. Of course, tensions had increased between each of the four men, stemming from cultural differences but branching out into more than that. Dempsey hated Richtofen because of that sadistic gleam in his eyes, for the way he grinned when someone let down their defenses and got hurt; he hated him for being the first to save someone's life just to see them nearly get killed over and over. He drove him crazy, and sometimes he wondered why he didn't just wrap his fingers around the damned Nazi's neck and end him right there.

That would be stupid, though—the doctor obviously knew more about their situation than he let on. He had, after all, fixed the teleporter so that they could stay in the projector room for longer periods of time, something Dempsey knew he wouldn't be able to do lest he had a part in building it.

In a way, Richtofen may have been the reason why they were all still alive. After all, if they didn't have that room as a safe haven, they would have been sick from sleep deprivation by now. Even so, Dempsey despised the possibility that he could owe the doctor his life.

"We should all get some rest," the marine announced, heading off to the teleporter, glowing blue with electricity. He never bothered to ask Richtofen how such technology had got there in the first place, but at this point he just appreciated the machine was there. The other men silently followed him, glancing warily about themselves for any sign of undead that they had missed.

"Just _look _at our destruction, Takeo," the doctor said with the same astonishment and joy that a child would have on Christmas upon seeing gifts underneath their tree.

"Hai," the other man agreed, but in a dismissive way; the last thing he desired was to talk to Richtofen any longer than was necessary. Richtofen seemed disinterested in whatever Takeo had to say anyway, as he soon moved on to Dempsey, matching his gait in order to walk next to the other man.

"Worried, American?" he sneered, noticing the way Tank's eyes scanned the room.

"Me? Nah," Dempsey replied, "You're the one who should be _worried, _Doc, one of 'em got you good back there." He gestured to the open wound on the side of the Nazi's palm, where one of the zombies had bitten through his flesh. It was a pretty nasty bite—even for Richtofen, who seemed to enjoy his own pain just as much as others'.

Richtofen waved his unaffected hand as if to push away the American's words. "This is nothing compared to the things I had to face during the war, marine."

Dempsey ignored this. "You gotta clean that up, man, you could die or somethin'."

Richtofen grunted and again waved away the words. "Why do you think I left you? I found some medical supplies in the dressing room…"

Dempsey shrugged, and the two stopped speaking, the sounds of Takeo and Nikolai arguing as the only thing that kept away the silence. As they stepped into the metal shell of the teleporter, Richtofen pressed a button and soon each man found themselves spinning through blue nothingness, the dizzy feeling unrelenting even as they found themselves in the dim upper room.

"Damn it…" Nikolai groaned, holding his head as he lurched in shaky legs, "I never get used to that…"

Takeo crawled into the corner, looking sickly, and promptly fell asleep, his usual routine. It wasn't long after that before Nikolai's complaining stopped as he passed out in a drunken stupor, and Dempsey found himself drifting off as well, slouched against the wall of the small room.

The sound of tearing paper brought him back, though, and he found himself glancing over at Richtofen, who was attempting to wrap his wounds in gauze with one hand and his teeth, struggling in the process. Dempsey smirked—hey, it _was_ sort of funny.

As the doctor struggled with the gauze— which kept slipping out of his hand into his lap—Dempsey figured he might as well help. What was the point of having Richtofen there if he couldn't shoot a gun, anyway?

"C'mere, Doc," he muttered, scooting over to grab the man's wrist and snatching the gauze out of his lap. Richtofen in response to this growled in disapproval, but allowed Dempsey to wrap it around his hand, noticing how carefully he did so.

"I'm the only one who does things right around here…" Dempsey mumbled, destroying any desire that Richtofen had to thank him. When the gauze was fastened in place, the Nazi just rolled his eyes ungratefully and put more distance between their bodies, curling up on his side to sleep. He winced as he accidently put pressure on his injured hand, and there was a rustle as Tank moved, peering over to look at him for no reason that Richtofen could see.

"Go to sleep, American," he murmured, and a slightly embarrassed Dempsey moved as far away as he could from him to slouch again against the wall. It was a long time before he actually fell asleep.

* * *

><p>Wow, I actually wrote a Black Ops fanfiction. No regrets.<p>

Shoot me, but I do sort of like the angsty relationship between Richtofen and Dempsey. ;_;

I hate how some people portray it as a definite uke/seme relationship, too. Guys. They're soldiers. Kthxbye.

I'll stop now. _;


	2. Chapter 2

And here's the slash part of this. Sorry, guys.

* * *

><p>Tank was jolted awake, much to his contempt, by a rather disturbed Nikolai.<p>

"Gah! Everywhere! They're every—"

"Silence, Nikolai!" Richtofen hissed, his brown-green eyes widening and brightening dangerously in annoyance at his fellow soldier, who was thrashing about on the edge of being awake and asleep, "You were dreaming."

Dempsey groaned and sat up, blinking and rubbing his eyes. They ached from being torn open after being peacefully closed for so long (if a few hours could be considered long,) and the marine's patience was already running thin.

And the day hadn't even begun. _Great._

The Russian man had by then stopped his panicking, and sat up, one of his hands going to his head and entangling within messy brown hair, beneath which a massive hangover beat the insides of his skull. He swooned a little and fell over, not doing much to prevent himself from hitting the hard floor, moaning pathetically. "Take… take me back… to the zombies… Nikolai can't stand to live anymore…"

"Oh, shut up," Tank growled, extending a foot to kick the Soviet with all his strength. Nikolai gave no sign that he felt it, and began to loudly snore. Two out of the three other men ignored him; Takeo just gazed, hugging his knees to his chest, as though he couldn't believe anyone could have less shame than the Russian that lay drunkenly in front of him.

"So, what now?" Dempsey asked, glancing at Richtofen with disinterest.

"_What now?"_ echoed the German, "Silly American, what have we been doing for the past week, every day? We fight." There was a pessimistic note in his voice, making what might have sounded courageous bleak and hopeless.

"You can't," the other said, "You got a busted hand."

There was a slight silence as the doctor glanced down. Blood had seeped through the bandages overnight, and he stopped to admire the scarlet stains. Tank groaned again—Richtofen acted like such a weirdo sometimes.

"If the Russian and doctor stay in this room, they can shoot the undead below. I and the American can go below, and—"

"Why am I stuck with Nikolai?" Richtofen said, almost in a whine. Takeo raised an eyebrow at him, and tried again.

"Very well. _I _will stay with the doctor, and the Russian and American will—"

Richtofen made a disapproving sound in his throat, making the Japanese man pause again, his face contemplative. "Doctor Richtofen, what do you suggest?"

"Dempsey should stay up here, he's a better shot with a sniper rifle than the both of you put together."

Takeo's cheeks flushed slightly as he took offense, but he soon resumed his neutral expression. "Fine, fine."

"Hey, don't I get a say in this?" Tank broke in, not exactly eager to spend the day alone with the Nazi, but he was ignored.

"He's right, Takeo, your aim is shit!" Nikolai laughed suddenly, but his voice was slightly faded and his laugh was not as cheerful as it usually was.

"Hush," the Japanese man snapped, trading his Dragunov for Dempsey's AK47. When they were gone, having exited in a more traditional way considering if they teleported than the other two would be forced to go with them, Dempsey found himself glaring at the German.

"You just love making me miserable, don't you, Doc?" he said grumpily, fixing his sight on the open window as his fingers wrapped around the gun.

"Yes, Dempsey, yes I do," the other replied, almost lovingly. The American rolled his eyes and took up ignoring the man completely, something he was getting rather skilled at. Pointing his sniper rifle out the window, he searched for any of the undead. There was nothing, yet, to both his relief and disappointment.

"Dempsey," Richtofen sing-songed—he was bored of this lying around already. When the marine didn't even glance over, he got to his hands and knees and crawled to him before standing up, a little too close for the other's comfort. He was practically breathing down the American's neck. "Dempsey…" he repeated.

"Shut up, Doc." Why was it that did Richtofen always have to screw with his focus? At any other time he was sneering and yelling and trying to taste the blood of whatever his target was at the time. A single zombie sauntered across the stage, and Tank rushed to aim and fire. He missed. Richtofen giggled.

"You will never be able to be a productive fighter if you get nervous so easily, my dear Dempsey," he said patronizingly, his green-brown eyes sparkling.

Ugh. Even the way he said his name put him on edge. "I'm not nervous! I was too quick to shoot, that's all!" This only earned another laugh from the doctor, and it definitely did nothing to make him move away. _If he gets to me, it could screw everything up. Calm down, Tank, you sexy bastard, calm down, and don't let this Nazi freak get to you…_

"Dempsey—" Richtofen said quietly, right next to his ear, making him gasp a little.

"Richtofen! Gimme some space!"

"Takeo needs some help."

"Shit!" Tank aimed down to his friend, who was being pursued by three of the undead, and pulled the trigger. One dropped dead. Takeo saluted up to the projector room where he knew the marine was, and took down the other two on his own.

"Good shot, Dempey," the doctor quietly praised, not at all giving him space. He took delight in how uncomfortable the American was getting by this. His useless angry demands were like music to his ears.

"Yeah, yeah," Tank muttered, trying unsuccessfully to put more space between them. He ended up pressed against the projector, and of course the German took no time in moving closer.

"Why do I make you lose your focus, American?" he whispered amusedly. Said American sighed a little, masking a shudder.

Not giving an answer, Dempsey elbowed the Nazi in the ribs, just hard enough to get him away. _Ugh. You need a woman, _he thought to himself, _spending all this time with dudes is makin' your brain work weird. _

Richtofen giggled again, but went away to the corner of the room, watching the marine and occasionally glancing down at his hand. He would need to change the bandages soon— a drop of blood escaped the wrappings and ran down his wrist.

"What are you doing?" Dempsey turned for a moment, suspicious at how the attention had just stopped. The man locked eyes with him, and, smirking, licked up the blood. "Look, you don't even creep me out anymore, so stop."

"Is that so, Dempsey?"

"Yeah, it is." For some reason, this seemed to greatly amuse the doctor. A few seconds of quiet passed, but it wasn't long before the peaceful silence was broken.

"Dempsey," Richtofen said, in mock-helplessness, "Will you help me?" He held up his hand. The American glared down for a moment before turning back, his blue eyes scanning the theater. Takeo was slowly spinning, checking all around him for any sign of enemies, so he figured it was all clear. God only knew where Nikolai was.

"Fine." Laying down his gun, he reluctantly unwrapped the wound, tossing the bloodied bandage out the window. The thought that the blood may attract more zombies flickered and died in his mind—there were already tons of gore coating the place, anyway. _Ugh, I bet he's loving this, _Tank thought, wasting no time in grabbing a clean bandage and repeating the process of the night before. Richtofen studied his work, and seemed to approve. As if he cared, he had stuff to do. Like be a badass.

"_Dankeschön._"

"Whatever."

Dempsey began to stand when he felt arms wrap around his waist.

"Get the hell off me—"

"Shut up, Dempsey," Richtofen hissed, yanking the other man down to the floor.

* * *

><p>"Hey!" Nikolai yelled as he staggered about, trying in vain to follow Takeo's swift and zig-zagging path. He was sober, but his headache hadn't gone away in the least bit and he had a great urge to curl up and die. He wasn't about to let the zombies take him, though—that would hurt too much. It was a slow day, thank God, but then again it always was when Richtofen wasn't out. For some reason, the zombies seemed attracted to him, as if they particularly wanted to destroy the Nazi above all others. Nikolai found this funny, especially since they were the animated corpses of fallen Nazi soldiers anyway.<p>

_Maybe they want their friend back, _the Russian thought tiredly and without much humor.

"Hurry, Nikolai! I saw a few coming from outside!"

"Yeah, yeah, Nikolai is coming…" Damn Takeo—how could be so agile? Was it because he was so small? _God, I need a drink…_

Turning, Nikolai squinted. Fourteen zombies swayed and lurched in his vision. _Damn double sight… triple sight? Quadruple sight? Yes, that must be it… _

After all, Tank would have shot them down if there really _were _that many. His seeing was just screwed up from the alcohol. He aimed, and shot one down with his ballistic knife. The rest continued on, though, and soon it dawned on the Soviet that maybe he _didn't _have quadruple vision.

"Shit!" he shouted, taking off after Takeo, "Where the hell is Dempsey?"

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, up in the projector room, Richtofen and Dempsey could have been fighting. They sort of were—at least, on Dempsey's part they were.<p>

"G…Get off, freak!" the American growled, struggling in the other's arms.

"_Nein_," Richtofen replied, with the same anger, "Your confidence is wearing down on my patience, _marine, _maybe it's about time you lost some of it."

What he meant by that, Dempsey didn't know, and he sure as hell didn't _want _to know, either. "Get your Nazi freak hands off of me!"

Richtofen only chuckled humorlessly. To his surprise, Dempsey flipped over and lunged with his hands up, either to strangle or to punch his teammate he couldn't say. He caught them both by his wrists, and was jarred backwards. Numbing, delicious pain shot up the arm with the injured hand. The marine spat more obscenities and glared, straining against the other man as he tried to pull away. To his surprise, Richtofen just squeezed his wrists tighter and pulled hard, forcing Dempsey to fall against him.

"What's wrong, Dempsey?" The voice was right in his ear, he could feel the Nazi's breath against the side of his throat.

"You're givin' me the creeps, Doc…" he said, his voice sounding nervous and uneven. He had actually been expecting Richtofen to try something like this, whether subconsciously or not. Yet, he didn't fight back; he couldn't help but be a little curious as to what the German's intentions were.

"Am I?" The man's voice dripped with false sweetness, and he chuckled softly against Dempsey's skin, succeeding in making him even more uncomfortable. The American still didn't fight back. Richtofen's voice was almost putting him into a trance. Sure, the fact that he was in another man's lap bothered him, and it being Richtofen of all people's… but it had been a long time since he had been physically close to_ anyone _(unless zombies counted,) and he was more than a little deprived.

Richtofen's lips grazed his neck, Dempsey bit the inside of his mouth. Yeah, he hated Richtofen. He hated him with every atom that made up his body. But maybe this didn't feel too bad…

_Wait, what the fuck?_

Breaking out of those rather uncomfortable thoughts, the marine growled in apparent displeasure and rolled his head to the side, cutting off any access to his throat. Richtofen only moved to the other side, his lips hovering over the man's pulse before biting him hard and without warning. Dempsey cried out and struggled as hard as he could, breaking free with one arm and gaining control. Instead of standing and going back to helping Takeo, or beating the hell out of Richtofen for doing whatever the hell he was doing to him, the marine found himself instead slamming the Nazi down under him, pinning his arms easily—the doctor seemed too shocked to fight back.

"Look," Dempsey hissed, getting low enough that his face was hardly an inch away from the German's. His pale eyes were brimming with a strange mixture of hate and lust, and his mouth was turned down into a snarl as he studied the face of the man beneath him. Richtofen's own green eyes were wide with many things, amongst them doubt. His hat had been knocked back, and revealed now messy black hair. Dempsey continued, "I don't know what the fuck you're trying to pull here…" his voice trailed off as he struggled to find a way to finish the sentence. His eyes moved around, as if searching for something threatening to say, but he found nothing.

Richtofen's frown melted into a sly smile. "What's wrong, Dempsey? Having second thoughts?"

He groaned as the American shook him once, hard. His head hit the floor and he saw a burst of stars. Through the pain he heard Tank's voice.

"You're not in any position to talk, Nazi." With that, Dempsey stood, locking eyes with the German and standing, glaring down at the man on the floor before moving back to his position at the window. Takeo was waving frantically below, a freight train of undead following him.

They were the last thing on his mind. He took aim and shot, more from impulse than thought. His heart pounded in his chest.


	3. Chapter 3

It had been rough, but Tank had somehow managed to avoid contact in any form with the doctor all day. Takeo had been up in the projector room since the morning, and he hadn't been a bad shot so far, either, despite what Nikolai had said. Nikolai himself seemed too disoriented to do much except sit around and shove himself farther into an inebriated state, but Dempsey didn't mind and even joined him once in a while in drink.

"Fucking Nazi…" the Russian groaned, as the marine kicked aside the mangled body of one of the mutated undead—the stench of the thing was almost unbearable. "His fault it is only us. We have to work harder than him and fucking Takeo."

Tank didn't exactly think that sitting against the wall in the lobby of the theater getting too drunk to see was considered working hard, but he didn't comment. They had hardly seen any zombies yet. That didn't surprise him, though; it always seemed quieter without the doctor.

"Yeah, yeah, he sucks—"

"What were you and Nazi doing yesterday? Takeo almost got maimed—"

"Nothing." The word came out before he could stop it, his face heated up when his voice sounded nervous in his own ears. Luckily, his Russian ally seemed too drunk to notice, or even hear.

"You two were fucking up there, or what?—"

"No! He made me patch up his hand again, and it took a while…"

Nikolai chuckled lightly and closed his eyes, his head dropping down to the table as he started to snore. _Shit. I'm alone here._

His momentary lack of confidence was gone in seconds as he reminded himself that he was, indeed, awesome and did not need help to cause harm to the enemy.

"Who's ready for some? OORAH!" he called out to the undead—where ever they were hiding—and reloaded his shotgun, fully prepared to kick zombie ass.

Jogging into the theater itself, Tank glanced around. Nothing. His attention was taken suddenly from his surroundings and up to the projector room, where Takeo was motioning frantically.

"What?" the American called, his voice echoing off the decaying walls of the place.

"The doctor believes he is ready to fight once more. Are you and the Russian in need of assistance?"

"Nah!" At that moment, a still alive portion of one of the zombies had decided to reawaken and drag itself to his ankle, screeching inhumanly before reaching out and raking its nails across his shin, ripping the pants leg.

"Fuck!" he yelled, giving it a kick that was hard enough to send it sailing into the wall, landing with a dull _thwack. _

"We are coming down."

"Whatever." Dempsey was more worried about his uniform.

"What?"

"Whatever, Tak!"

It wasn't until his friend disappeared from view that he realized that this meant Richtofen was going to be with him, and he groaned. He didn't have the capacity to deal with the Nazi's weird approaches right now.

Frustrated, he glared down at the crawler he had kicked. It writhed slowly on the floor amongst bits of its companions. _What a way to die, _Tank speculated, before pointing his gun at the poor sucker's head.

* * *

><p>Nikolai groaned softly, the sound somehow making his headache even worse. "Fucking… Nazi…" he grumbled, his eyes slowly scanning his constantly blurring surroundings. Where was Tank?<p>

"Probably fucking Nazi in attic again…" The thought made him laugh, but it turned into a hacking cough.

How much had he had to drink? Too much… for once, too much…

"Hello, Nikolai."

The Soviet turned sharply, hid head exploding in a burst of pain. Moaning in agony, he squinted to focus. His first guess had been right, and he grimaced (mostly from the throbbing in his head.)

"Fuck you, Takeo…"

"Nikolai, you should rest."

"Nikolai _is _resting. Look at all the bottles. Now let's find Dempsey and try to get some killing done."

_Great. Nazi, too. _

"Where did you guys come from?"

"We chose not to teleport back… for… time reasons." Takeo explained, not quite wanting to express how nauseating teleporting was for him. Richtofen snickered, and the Asian man glanced at him before heading out to the theater to find his friend.

Richtofen clicked his tongue. "Shame, shame, Nikolai. Dempsey could be getting torn to shreds with all the help you've been giving him. God knows he's incompetent enough."

Nikolai didn't even bother to look at the doctor. "Shut up…" It was not in defense of his ally as much as just wanting the German's ugly voice to stop. The man made a disapproving sound in his throat, but said nothing, and it wasn't long before the Soviet heard his footsteps move out the door, precise and even, like a march.

"Fucking bastard…"

Nikolai closed his eyes again. They would take care of the zombies just fine without him; he had worked hard enough for one day.


	4. Chapter 4

Dempsey had been in the middle of explaining rather loudly to one of the undead exactly _why _it was coming to the fate it was when he noticed Takeo standing near him, studying him with amusement. Ending the once-human creature with the pull of a trigger, he grinned at the man. "'Sup, Tak?"

"Hello."

"Doc with you?"

"He lingered behind to insult our Russian friend."

Tank nodded, and at that moment the pair heard an enraged roar from the dressing room. Takeo readied his gun and jogged up the stairs to the stage, assuring the American that he would take care of it. Having nothing to do with no other zombies around, Dempsey absent-mindedly strolled over to the Juggernog machine, listening for the umpteenth time to the jingle that it played. God, even hearing some chick's pre-recorded voice singing some lame song was enough to take at least part of his mind out of this hell.

How long had it been since he had even _seen _a woman, anyway? Too long, that's for sure.

"The doctor had returned to cause more pain!" Richtofen's voice echoed through the hall that led from that lobby to the theater, drowning out the Jugger-girl's cheerful tune and the marine's daydreaming.

Dempsey groaned inwardly and moved farther from the stairs, closer to the sweet voice that sang from the machine. When he glanced over towards the doorway, again, he almost shouted when he noticed the German standing mere yards away, one eyebrow raised in what could have been annoyance or amusement.

"Hallo, Dempsey. In one piece, I see." There was a note of disappointment in the man's voice, but it sounded faked to the marine. _He's trying to get on my nerves again. _

"Yeah, no thanks to you. Princess was busy moping in her tower, huh?"

Richtofen didn't seem the least bit offended by the taunt; he only grinned slyly and took a step closer. Dempsey didn't feel threatened—not anymore. At first the sound of the Nazi's voice put him absolutely on edge, of course, the man was _crazy. _

But by now he had grown used to his antics, and he met the stare with one of his own. He wasn't much taller than the doctor, but the fraction of an inch that he _did _have on him seemed to increase as their glares clashed.

"What? You just gonna stare at me all day, Doc?" Dempsey inquired, and with of a smirk of his own, "I don't blame you. And after trying to molest me in the projector room—"

Richtofen scoffed, "Still bothered, Dempsey?" He took another small step forward. Suddenly, the height difference didn't mean very much.

Dempsey tried at a sarcastic tone of voice, but it was obvious that he was a little intimidated. The look the Nazi was giving him was creepy, to say the least. "Who wouldn't be bothered by your dirty Nazi hands?"

Richtofen chuckled as if Dempsey had told a particularly good joke, and brought up a gloved hand, studying it.

"Dirty, you say?" Before Dempsey could notice, the doctor brought the open hand up to the marine's face and pressed his knuckles lightly against his cheek, running them gently down his face in a mock-romantic way. Dempsey slapped the hand away and his eyes darted to the stage, expecting to see Takeo staring with a look of confusion, maybe disgust. But no, by the sound of battle cries and Japanese swears floating faintly from the dressing room Takeo was still fighting.

"Don't touch me."

"I refuse to take orders from some over-confident _American,_" the Nazi hissed, his anger hardly concealed; his hands shook and he spoke though clenched teeth, "Particularly _you._"

Dempsey opened his mouth to say something in return, but the annoyance on his face turned to shock as Richtofen put his hand around his throat and pushed, slamming him into the hard metal of the juggernog machine. Dempsey let out a strangled cry of pain, and both of his hands darted up to wrench the Nazi off of him. This caused the Richtofen's free arm to pin his torso, forcing his arms to his sides.

He didn't even smile—he just kept his look of contempt. Usually, this would be enough to satisfy him; to keep him assured that the marine had gotten what he deserved. Now, though, he decided that a little shove wouldn't be enough to keep his annoying American mouth shut to the doctor's liking.

"Hurts, _Tank_?" Richtofen spit out the other man's name like something horrible. "_Das ist gut_. I'm only beginning. And what I'll do to you ranges very far out of the typical stupid military violence you're used to."

A smirk formed on the German's face as he observed Dempsey's expression, which was now slightly touched with fear. His grey-blue eyes were widened, and his eyebrows were slightly furrowed.

"Poor little Dempsey, afraid of the doctor…" Even through his gloves, the Nazi could feel a muscle twitch in the marine's neck as what he said struck home.

After a moment, Richtofen grew bored of this and brought his hand to his side. Upon being released, Dempsey drew in a panicked breath as if he was being suffocated, his own fingers brushing against his throat, examining for damage. The green eyes still glared into the grey, and it stayed like that for a good two minutes.

Finally the silence was broken. "Fuckin' freak…"

The words were hoarse and hollow, almost meaningless. Dempsey did not try to punctuate the insult with his fists, as the German had expected. He only shuddered, moved his eyes to the stage, and started to walk away, careful not to touch the doctor as he moved around him.

What was this? No rant? No attack? No childish show of valor? Richtofen narrowed his eyes as he watched the American climb the stairs to the stage, greeting Takeo, who was exiting the dressing room at just the same time.

"Did I break him? Already?" the doctor questioned, going into a sudden fit of laughter, laughter that resounded off the bloody walls, laughter loud enough to wake the dead. Takeo looked alarmed and glanced over, but Dempsey quickly drew his friend's attention back to himself, punching him lightly on the arm and continuing whatever conversation they had been having.

"H…He's not broken," Richtofen murmured to himself as he caught his breath, "Not yet. He's pretending. …How cute."


End file.
